


MothJon: Origins

by CertifiedPissWizard



Series: MothJon: The Saga [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Nonbinary Character, hes having a rough time and it gets better, moths? moths, this is low key soft, yall moths are great and please look up the mentioned moths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23046355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertifiedPissWizard/pseuds/CertifiedPissWizard
Summary: He’s sitting outside alone and lonely and he’s smoking a cigarette and he sees a moth. It’s fluffy, bright pink and yellow, a rosy maple moth. They aren’t found in the UK. “Are you part of the corruption, or did someone let their pet out.” He outright coos it to the moth. He’s always liked moths.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & OC
Series: MothJon: The Saga [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656232
Comments: 12
Kudos: 69





	MothJon: Origins

Jon is tired, and he’s alone again. The weather is nice, though. The sun is out for once, and it’s warm for that time of year. It’s nice, having the break from the Archives, and from Melanie’s anger, and from Basira’s secrets. It’s nice, having that break. It’s not nice, the fact that he’s never felt more lonely in his life, but it doesn’t really change anything. He’s sitting outside alone and lonely and he’s smoking a cigarette. He’s sitting outside alone and lonely and he’s smoking a cigarette and he sees a moth. It’s fluffy, bright pink and yellow, a rosy maple moth. They aren’t found in the UK. “Are you part of the corruption, or did someone let their pet out.” He outright coos it to the moth. He’s always liked moths. People so normally think of them as small unassuming things, distracted instead by the flashy colors of butterflies. He likes the patterns and colors they have, though.

It flies from its spot on the concrete and lands on him. It’s light, where it stands. It walks around on his hair gently. He smiles a bit, gets back to his cigarette, and for a moment he feels a little less alone. Of course, later he has to stand, has to gently brush away the moth, has to go back into the Archives. He is, after all, the Archivist, for all that entails. Melanie snaps at him, lashes out, hates him, blames him when he didn’t even know she’d be stuck. Basira avoids him. Martin is gone. He reads his statements. He files them. He is haunted by the ghosts of Tim and Sasha. He looks at the clock and it is late. He goes to sleep on his cot. He is hungry. He is so very lonely.

The next day he wakes up. He reads statements. He is alone and lonely and hungry. He goes for a smoke break. The moth shows up again. It once again sits in his hair while he smokes. In between drags of his cigarette he says a bunch of facts about rosy maple moths. It is peaceful, and quiet, and he feels less alone and honestly, calmer than he’s felt in a long while. It’s quiet. Kind of dreary. Nobody is screaming at him and blaming him and there isn’t silence from everyone he ever called a friend. He tries to not think it’s pathetic that he’s sitting there alone talking about a species of moth to that moth. He decides to see if he can find some new moth facts later. He wonders why it ended up where he was smoking of all places. It walks around in his hair and flutters its wings along the back of his neck.

The cigarette is gone, and he stands and goes back into the archives. Melanie yells at him. She says she hates him and that it’s his fault Tim is gone. Basira keeps her secrets and avoids him. Martin is not there. Jon is left alone with his statements and the ghosts of Tim and Sasha. He looks at the clock. It’s late. He looks up facts on the rosy maple moth. He looks at the clock. It’s morning. He’s hungry. He’s always hungry these days. Reading statements only does so much. He’s always so terribly hungry.

He goes and takes another break. The moth is there. He talks about the new facts he learned. It’s quiet and peaceful and he is so very tired. Then the cigarette is gone and he goes back into the archives and Melanie screams and Basira keeps her secrets and avoids him. He is left alone with his statements and the ghosts of Tim and Sasha, and his hunger. He is so very alone and lonely. He reads statement after statement. The moth flies out of his pocket and lands on his desk. He looks at it. It flies over to the clock. He looks at the clock. It is not as late as it normally is when he stops. He goes to grab another statement and it lands on his hand as though to stop him. “I’m hungry.” He mutters to the moth. “Okay? So sure me.” It stays on his hand, and gives him a look. He rolls his eyes. How pathetic does he have to be, talking to a moth like that. “Fine. You win.” It flies off his hand and practically leads him through the archives to his cot.

He settles down to sleep and dream the nightmares of so many people. The moth walks on his face. He is not alone. It’s nice. He misses people being around and caring about him. He is so alone and so tired of being alone, and every time he’s started trying again after giving up it’s been too late. There is a moth walking feather light steps on his face, though. He is not alone right then. There is a moth walking feather light steps on his face, and Jonathan Sims, The Archivist, sleeps and dreams. He dreams of worms and mold and corruption. It is not pleasant to watch. He is so very hungry though, so he drinks it all in, every last bit of fear, savoring every hint of it. He feels feather light touches on his face. He does not close his eyes. He watches and is watched and watches for and he aches with hunger and he is so terribly alone and Naomi Herne is in the bottom of a grave surrounded by fog and there are feather light touches on his face and then he wakes up sneezing. The tickle of moth wings on his nostrils, he supposes.

He gets up and heats some water in the microwave and makes himself some tea, and he sits in a chair holding tea with a moth lightly walking around on his head and the back of his neck. He is so very hungry. The tea is scalding. He sips it anyways, feels the burn run down his throat. It is soothing in a strange sort of way. He is alone. Except for the moth. He sits and waits for morning to come. This is not the first time he has done so. It will not be the last. At least, this time, he is not sitting and waiting for the dawn alone. There is the featherlight steps of a moth on his head, the occasional foray into the touch of wings on his neck. He quietly starts up on moth facts again. It’s been a while since he’s let himself get so excited about things. It’s nice.

He gets up from the chair, tea gone, back aching, and he gets back to work. He goes for a cigarette break. He is alone and lonely and so very hungry. There is a moth that is floating around his head before he can even reach for a cigarette, and then another one. A luna moth this time, big and flowing and green with eyespots. He mutters, “You can’t expect me to have up to date moth facts for two moths.” He smiles, despite this. He isn’t alone. It’s nice. He starts sharing some of what he knows about luna moths. He feels content. It’s nice. He is so very hungry.

The wings of moths and butterflies are clear and covered with scales. This is a fact. Melanie hates Jon. This is a fact. Jon is alone and scared and has been for a while. This is a fact. The moths are going somewhere. This is a fact. The moths come from somewhere. This is a fact. They’re probably corruption related. This is a fact. Jon should definitely not follow them. This is a fact. Jon is standing up, and he is following the moths that just started to fly away from him. He is curious. This is a fact. He is hungry. This is a fact. He wants to know why an avatar of the corruption would send moths his way. This is a fact. He wants to know why an avatar of the corruption would work to make him feel less alone. This, also, is a fact. So he follows the moths and very firmly does not think of stories of people following a will-o-the-wisp to their dooms. He follows and wonders and hungers and wants to know why someone would reach out to him like this when nobody wants him around. He wants to know why, so he swallows his terrifyingly small amount of apprehension, and he follows the moths.

It is a long walk. The moths slow down for him from time to time. It is strange and concerning and he needs answers so he follows the moths step by step by step. The buildings change and time passes and every now and then one of the moths flies back over to him and flutters its way around his head like a reminder that he isn’t alone and will be okay. He can’t die, so he supposes that that is the case. Well, presumably he can’t die. He’s hungry. He isn’t doing a good job of feeding his god. He might be able to die. Then there’s a park, and Jon keeps following the moths, and someone is sprawled under a tree covered in moths. They have a statement. Jon is hungry. He sits a distance away and he keeps his mouth shut so that the questions don’t fall out of his mouth. He coughs slightly, and the figure stirs, and ze smiles at him and waves. “You must be the person one of my moths kept visiting!” Jon nods. He doesn’t know how to respond, if he’s supposed to apologize, perhaps? Or simply stay silent? “My name’s Rosy Maple.” A moth avatar of the Corruption. With a cutesy moth name. Oh dear sweet lord. “And you must be the Archivist.”

“Jon. My name is Jon.” He is tired and alone not alone and-

“Do you want to be friends?” He looks at zir and doesn’t know how to respond. “You seem lonely, and you like my moths.” Jon doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. The luna moth and the rosy maple go back to fluttering around his head while he thinks about it. Here’s the thing. Jon thinks Corruption and thinks Jane Prentiss and thinks Silver Grey Worms Burrowing Into Him. He doesn’t think moths and people named Rosy Maple and offers of friendship. He doesn’t think a moth waking him up from a nightmare with a few choice wingbeats. He looks at zir and thinks about it and zir face is falling and then Jon responds.

“I wouldn’t mind that. Moths are cool.” Rosy Maple lights up at that, and Jon blows off the whole day of work basking in the light of the sun with his new friend and zir moths. He does not feel alone. They ask him why he isn’t eating at one point in the conversation. He explains why he isn’t eating at one point in the conversation, that he can’t just retraumatize people.

When he walks back to the archives it’s late at night and there is a moth in his pocket and he does not feel lonely and he is not hungry and he has a friend. It’s nice. Jon is happy, for a given definition of the word. When he goes to sleep, there is a moth walking around on his face with feather light steps. He sleeps through the night.


End file.
